


Mostly Mental

by helloseatttle



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, M/M, bunkerfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-22
Updated: 2014-11-22
Packaged: 2018-02-26 13:51:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2654360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helloseatttle/pseuds/helloseatttle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas finds an old sketchbook in the bunker and decides to take up drawing (he's better at it than expected) and Dean begins to realize what Cas means to him. </p>
<p>(cheesy description, I know, but this is literally just a fluffy drabble).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mostly Mental

**Author's Note:**

> Bunker!fic at some point in time. (not beta'd, all mistakes are my own.)

It all started when Castiel found the relatively new book full of drawings. Relatively new, meaning less than twenty years old, as opposed to the half-century old encyclopedias, notebooks and reference books the Men of Letters had stashed in the bunker. But when Castiel had dusted off the cover of the black, leather sketchbook, he knew it was something. 

Not a something in respect to research, particularly on the subject of the newest pagan gods who’d decided to go on a killing spree, but a something in respect to a something important. 

Something. 

So, naturally, he’d brought it over to his table, the wooden one several feet away from Sam’s table and Dean’s table, and attempted to untie the complex knot sealing the book closed. It took Castiel a good twenty minutes to finally unwind the strings, but it was worth it. 

Gingerly, Castiel had opened the cover to reveal a beautiful sketch of a bird, flying. The pencil was slightly smeared across the back of the cover, but it was still in pristine condition. Castiel ran his fingers over the wings appreciatively, sighing slightly when his back began to ache slightly. The loss of his wings still woke him in the night, shoulders burning and eyes red from the strain of nightmares. In those early mornings, he would lay in bed, breathing deeply, attempting to calm himself, tucked deep under the covers, alone. 

He flipped the page over, doodles of buildings and skylines adorning the next musty pages. Lots of churches, old churches, like the ruins he’d visited once in Ireland, angel statues and tombstones scattered over a hill. 

“Dean, Sam.” Castiel’s voice was quiet as he called to the brothers, admiring a sketch of a fountain surrounded with flowers. 

“Yeah, Cas?” Dean was the first to look up from a book of folklore, anxious for the excuse to get out of researching. Not to observe Castiel’s not at all adorable expressions or mannerisms as he encountered something new or... anything, actually. 

“Look at these drawings.” 

Dean stood and stretched, walking slowly over to Castiel, still engrossed in the sketchbook. Sam raised his head to look over the top of his laptop before hunching over and disappearing behind the dimly lit screen again. 

“They’re great, but, Cas, what’ve they gotta do with the case?” 

Castiel looked up to find Dean standing directly behind him, gazing down at the page of the sketchbook open to silhouettes of birds resting atop gravestones. He blinked twice, shaking his head slightly to clear it. 

“Nothing.” he replied bluntly, turning another page over, eyes widening as a very realistic eye stared back at him. “I just find them very interesting.” he rifled through the pages until he found the sketch of a church. 

“So get this,” Sam sat up straight, his back cracking loudly as he did so, and Dean moved away from the former angel with a last look at Castiel, continuing to stare at the drawings. Castiel didn’t hear Sam’s voice as he chattered on about the special pine branch they’d need to kill the gods. 

Several minutes later, Castiel had finished going through the sketchbook and was able to catch the end of the Winchester’s conversation as Sam stood up. 

“I’ll go out to the farm and grab the branch and whatever other crap we need.” he motioned to the computer screen, shutting the device down, a snap echoing through the room. “I’ll be back in a few hours.” Sam started to move towards the door. 

“Do you want me to come with?” Dean asked as his brother shuffled through a pile of papers for the keys to one of the extra cars they kept in the large bunker garage. 

“Nah, I’ll be fine. Bye!” Sam called as he strode through the garage doors. 

“Bye.” Castiel mumbled, barely looking at Sam’s retreating back before the doors slammed closed. 

“Okay, well, I’m gonna get some grub. You want anything?” Dean nodded in Castiel’s direction.

“No.” Castiel stood as Dean left, moving towards Sam’s table, still a mess of papers, pens, pencils, files, folders, laptop(s?) and the odd half-empty glass of an unidentifiable liquid. The first pencil Castiel reached for was broken, very broken, the eraser pulled off and several cracks in the yellow wood. Sighing, Castiel set it down, looking up when Dean entered the room with a bowl of somethings.

“What are you doing?” Raising his eyebrows, Dean set the bowl of chips down on his table and watched Castiel search through the other papers.

“Looking for a pencil. Or a pen.” 

“Why? We have computers.” Dean gestures to the four laptops scattered around the room before picking his black computer up and flipping the screen open. The machine hummed to life , audible even in the half silence of the bunker. 

“I want to learn how to draw.” Castiel pauses, looking up at the hunter for a brief second, Dean’s green eyes peering over the laptop, eyebrows raised, to meet Castiel’s intensely blue eyes. They stay like that for a minute, the now daily ritual of a staring contest not to be broken even when the hours were filled with research. 

“Okay, man. Have fun with that.” Chuckling, Dean settles into a chair breaking eye contact as it became…. tense. After several minutes of another somewhat awkward silence, Castiel manages to find a pencil and a sheet of paper that are suitable. He glances over at Dean, then carrying the items back to his table. 

“Dean,” Castiel calls across the room, a hint of confusion edging his voice. 

“Yeah, Cas?” 

“How exactly does one hold a pencil?” 

Dean can’t help but laugh as he walks over to Castiel’s side. Castiel, in his typical fashion, tilts his head to the side and stares in bewilderment as Dean yanks a chair around the side of the table next to the ex-Angel. 

Not at all cute, Dean reminds himself as he picks up the pencil and twirls it between his fingers. 

“Just hold the pencil.” 

Castiel takes the pencil from Dean, making sure their fingers don’t brush in any way, which they don’t. He holds it like one would grip a knife, fist clenched tight. 

“No.” 

“Just show me, Dean.” 

“Okay, well, just move your hand up here-” Dean taps the pencil several inches up from where Castiel’s hand is currently positioned, holding back a smirk. “And don’t hold it like that. It’s not a knife.” 

“Then how?” 

“Here, um.” Awkwardly, Dean adjusts Castiel’s fingers around the pencil until it seems suitable. Castiel, in turn, searches the hunter’s face as he balances Castiel’s pinky finger against his ring finger. Dean is staring intently at Castiel’s hand, not willing to let his eyes meet Castiel’s for even a second. 

“Are you okay?” Castiel asks as Dean’s hand leaves Castiel’s. He doesn’t move his fingers for fear of forgetting the pattern Dean has carefully placed them in. 

“Yeah.” Dean mumbles. “D’ya need anything else?” he sighs, standing. 

“No.” 

Scratching the back of his neck, Dean shuffles back towards his normal table, occasionally glancing back at his friend who is staring at the paper. Not because he cares or anything. 

Castiel sets the pencil to paper somewhat hesitantly, not exactly sure how this ‘writing’ thing works. Or ‘drawing’, for that matter. 

He moves his hand and a line appears. A wobbly line at that, but still a line. Smiling, Castiel lifts the pencil off the page and outlines something resembling a circle. Simple. 

As for the hunter at the other table, he certainly doesn’t look up every minute in an attempt to see what Castiel is drawing. And he definitely doesn’t notice how not-cute Castiel’s expression is when he’s concentrating. Nope. Not in the slightest. 

Castiel is not really sure what exactly he is drawing. The pencil seems to be moving on its own, Castiel just the lucky (albeit confused) recipient. After a few minutes, he’s stumped. He isn’t drawing a person, that’s for certain. And it isn’t a church or a building. An animal? Maybe. There are wings, definitely wings in there. A bird. 

Several minutes pass before his hand starts to cramp.

Pausing, Castiel lifts the pencil up from the paper, circling his wrists, revealing the silvery smudging of graphite on the side of his hand. 

“Dean?” Castiel calls, staring at his hand in worry. “What is this? It seems… not… natural.”

Sighing, Dean stands once again and returns to Castiel’s side. 

“Is it bad- an infection? Will I die? I don’t understand, Dean.” 

Castiel holds out his hand at Dean’s command, panic in his blue eyes, and Dean glances down at Castiel’s hand before looking back at Castiel before chuckling. Which quickly transitions into full-blown laughter and Castiel stares at his friend in confusion. 

“Cas…” Dean manages to get out. “It’s just the pencil lead rubbing off.” 

“Oh.” 

“What’ve you drawn?” the laughter fades and Dean peers over at Castiel’s sketch. “Geez, Cas, you’ve got some pretty damn good art skills.” 

“Thank you?”

Castiel picks up the pencil again, his hand clenching. 

“No, Cas, I told you, hold it like this.” Reaching over, Dean’s fingers brush over Castiel’s as he arranges them once again. 

“Thank you, Dean.” Castiel moves his hand away from Dean’s, setting the tip of the pencil on the paper once again and traces over a line, refusing to look at his friend. 

As Dean leans back in the chair, Castiel continues to draw, closing his eyes as he shades in the various edges and sides of his drawing. He’s silent, quiet, relaxed. 

Peaceful.

It’s been a while since any of them have felt at peace. Dean can see it in the crease of concentration in Castiel’s forehead, he, at long last, is relaxed. 

And honestly, it makes Dean feel a heck of a lot better to see Castiel free of the burden he’s been carrying, if only temporarily. 

“Finished.” 

Castiel speaks after several minutes of the silence. In turn, Dean straightens, sitting up straight, to smile at Castiel’s drawing. 

“Do you ever miss them? Your wings?” Dean coughs in the Castiel- like- bluntness of the question.

“After all this time?” Castiel chuckles humorlessly. “Always.”

He places the bird sketch across the table, a sharp pain shooting through his back once again. Castiel twisted his arm around, straining to massage the sore spot unsuccessfully before letting his hand fall back down to his side. 

“I’m sorry, man.” 

“It isn’t your problem, Dean.” 

“Well I sure as hell ain’t gonna let you handle it on your own.” 

“That’s a nice sentiment.”

“We’re family, Cas, of course it’s my problem.” clapping Castiel on his back (Castiel wincing slightly in response) and standing up, Dean sighs. 

Just family, Dean tells himself. 

But “just family” don’t think about how adorable (admittedly, very adorable) another family member is. “Just family” aren’t supposed to notice how beautiful a certain pair of blue eyes are. “Just family” aren’t supposed to do any of that. 

Well, maybe the ex-angel isn’t “just family”. Dean could accept that. But if “just family” was what made Castiel happy, “just family” Dean would be. 

Dean had pledged to serve God and all his angels (not his angels, “you guys” was what Dean had affectionately called them) all those years back. 

Even if Castiel did lost his wings, he, at least in Dean’s opinion, was still an angel (albeit a mojo-less angel at that).

And Dean would do anything for his angel, even if that meant staying silent, protecting, dying for him, even after all this time; Dean reflected as he strutted back to his seat.

Always.

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on tumblr? fallenangelsflying.tumblr.com


End file.
